Happy Christmas, Ron
by sierendipity
Summary: Hermione struggles to accept her situation, Ron puts on his sappy shoes to help. It's an overly fluffy, light oneshot for the holidays, but I hope you'll enjoy regardless :)


Hello, gorgeous souls! It's been a long time since I've updated, and I wish I could offer you more than this silly little one shot. However, I haven't had any chance to write fanfiction in awhile, and so I decided to dedicate just a quick moment to a holiday sugar fest, even if it's nothing extraordinary. Please leave your thoughts and favorite if you feel so inclined. I so appreciate all of you! Have a marvelous holiday season :)

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Hermione stared out the window of her small cubicle at the ministry. A pile of paper aeroplane memos zoomed around her head.

She silently pointed her wand at each one until all were still, stopped in midair, eerily hovering around her head. Without thinking, she twirled her wand so that they made a sort of dance. With flawless choreography, they twirled and dove in perfect synchronization.

"Maybe you ought to try out a new profession, darling."

Startled, the four pieces of informative origami landed on her solid oak desk.

"Oh?" She turned around to see her husband.

"Paper aeroplane ballet – you'd make loads. No one's ever done it before."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face.

"Oh shut up. Are you and Harry done with work already? You aurors are in the lap of luxury, honestly."

Ron chuckled. "While it has definitely been slow lately, no, I'm not done with my work day at two in the afternoon … Even if it is Christmas Eve. I just thought I'd swing by to see if my wife fancied a spot of pumpkin juice and pasties."

Hermione's response was a little too eager – she inhaled excitedly and held out a hand.

Ron laughed, louder this time. "It seems I was right."

"I am completely famished!" She gratefully snatched away the pasty. "Where did all this come from?"

"Auror Christmas party," he smiled. "Care to join us? I'm allowed to bring a date." He winked.

"You're having Christmas parties in the middle of the work day?"

His expression shifted just a bit, but she could tell that he was nervous. "Erm … well, not really. I mean, _party_ is a bit of a strong term, it's more just some drinks and such things."

She sighed. "Oh, all right. It is Christmas, after all."

He grinned. "So … what was that expression all about when I walked in here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you were so lost in thought that I'm not sure you even realized the dance of the memos that you were putting on."

"Oh, nothing really."

He didn't look convinced. "Come on, Hermione. What's the matter?"

She sighed. Why was it so hide things from him?

"It's just … oh, it's so stupid."

He rolled his eyes. "Of all the things you've been –"

"Stupid's never been one of them," she finished for him, chuckling. "Yes, I know _you_ say that. But this time it's really quite … well, petty at best."

"Go on, then. What is it?"

She steeled herself up, and then, after a long pause, "It's the whole pregnancy thing again."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. Sighing, he sat down in the chair across her desk. "What about it?"

"Well, and I know it's silly, but Ginny and Harry announcing their second was rather painful."

He nodded. "Makes sense."

"But that's – that's only part of it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Go on."

"It's just that sometimes I worry that with all this ministry business and my career and your career and the press and the politics and all of it – I guess I worry that somewhere deep down you're disappointed because you've always wanted kids, and your mum stayed home with you lot, and now your best mate and little sister are going to have two, and you've got a wife that is … well, a ministry workaholic, and so far hasn't been all too successful at giving you kids to worry about anyway."

Ron's jaw fell slack. Everything she said seemed incredibly out of character. Hermione, who was wildly passionate about a woman being worth more than her ability to produce children, Hermione who loved her job and made it clear from the beginning that it was a priority, Hermione who made more of a difference than anyone he had ever known – he was flabbergasted.

Ron could tell that Hermione regretted what she had said and why. He knew that she was mortified to have let so many secrets out at once.  
"Do you honestly feel that way?"

She sighed, and threw up her hands. "No! I mean … I know it's entirely irrational. Most of the time. I mean, I _think_ I know it's irrational. But this whole baby thing is making me crazy! I have my insecurities, no doubt, but it's introduced a new slew of them."

Ron walked around to where she sat and knelt. He placed a hand on her arm. "Hermione, let me say this as clearly as possible. You. Are. Barmy."

Her eyes narrowed, even as a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"How comforting."

He laughed. "Hermione, I know you're genuinely feeling this way, and I'm not trying to discredit it or … or take the mick or anything, but it _is_ irrational to think that I would ever be disappointed because we haven't had a baby yet. I didn't marry you because …" he flushed, and gestured awkwardly to her general midsection, "I mean, I didn't marry you for all that."

She smiled, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I married you because you're brilliant and different than all the other girls. You've always been. I'd have been dead a million times by now if it weren't for you and Harry. Could anyone else have changed my mind about house elves? Or goblins? Or the way witches are treated in a wizarding world? I didn't marry you _in spite of_ your career and ambition. I've been mad for you for years _because_ of those things, and I'd never want or expect anything less."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and Ron's flush deepened. Long monologues weren't exactly his style, but this one was certainly warranted.

"Thank you, Ron."

"Don't mention it. It's almost Christmas after all. I can be nice once a year." He winked, and she swatted him, but he caught her hand.

"Well you just …." She trailed off, and her forehead scrunched up in a dangerous expression.

"What? What is it?"

"Wait … it's Christmas Eve!"

Bemused, he nodded. "Yes? Of course it is. And we're some of the few ministry workers coming in anyway, remember?"

"The 24th … Merlin's hairline … Ronald."

Still confused, he gripped her hand tighter. "What? What did we forget? Was it another of those mandatory ministry functions? If so, I'm sorry, but I think we're better –"

"Shh, shh, shut up! Let me think." She got to her feet and began to pace. "Good Godric. It should have been … but no, that's not … how did I –"

He stood, desperate for clarification, but not willing to interrupt her frazzled thought train. Then, realization began to dawn on him. Not wanting to let his hopes heighten too much, he waited for her to remember that he was in the room.

"My period was supposed to start eleven days ago."

They looked at each other for one long, wild moment, and then shrieked, falling into each other's arms. There was cheering (from him), and sobbing (from both of them), and a fair bit of snogging. Hermione was the first to regain her senses.

"This is absurd, Ron, we have to get to St. Mungo's. This could be some random fluke."

The possibility of the truth in her words evaporated their bliss like a soap bubble. "I'll just run and tell Harry I won't be back for the afternoon." She nodded and grabbed her purple beaded bag.

"I'll meet you at the fireplaces."

 **Much later that night**

Hermione and Ron lay basking in sunny afterglow, tangled up in their squashy bed. "Parents, Ron. We're going to be parents."

He sighed. "Mental."

He shifted so that he was facing her, and began tracing light patterns on her bare thigh. She shivered, and moved closer. "Thank you in advance for being the best father and husband I could ever have hoped to find."

He sighed. "I'm glad you think so – I'm always half afraid you'll wake up one day and realized you could have done much, _much_ better."

"Oh sod off – of course I couldn't have."

"Hermione … you could have had any bloke you wanted."

She sighed and moved closer. "We've gone soft. I'm afraid we're nauseatingly sappy these days."

"Mm … I've always liked that you're soft," he squeezed her waist for emphasis, and she giggled and swatted him away.

"You know what I meant, you tosser."

"Language, Granger," he smirked, and held her against his chest. "But, in all seriousness, you should know that I meant everything I said earlier. I mean … I'm obviously over the moon about –" he brushed her stomach gently, "about this little bean, here, but I married you because of you."

She smiled. "Why, Ronald Weasley and your silver tongue – if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me."

"It's a good thing you know better, then," he smirked, and leaned in to kiss her lips, and then slowly down her neck.

Her retort stuck in her throat, and, despite herself, she let a fluttery sigh escape.

"Oh, wit be damned," she muttered, and pulled him on top of her.

"Happy Christmas," he whispered.

With a flick of her wand, the lights went out. "Happy Christmas, Ron."


End file.
